Coffee
by daysofmasquerades
Summary: Draco had never been a fan of coffee, up until he tasted it on her lips. DM/HG, oneshot, Eighth Year.


A lot of things changed about Draco Malfoy when he became friends with Hermione Granger.

Of course, he was still arrogant, snarky and condescending—he would always be so—but he never realized how change could be so _strange_.

It started with the coffee.

He used to despise coffee. It made his head throb and he could practically _feel_ the caffeine rushing through his veins, making him unnaturally jumpy and alert. Draco was nothing but a lazy and languid hedonist—all the unneeded energy made him irritable and cranky, all until he moved in with Granger at the start of the Eighth Year term as Head Boy and Girl.

He had entered their quarters, the smell smacking him right in the sinuses, making him scrunch up his nose in disgust. He couldn't believe any self-respecting person would drink the vile stuff voluntarily, much less brew the concoction in their home. She had been sitting on the sofa, a large book propped up on her knees and the steaming cup of coffee in her hands. He cleared his throat and stamped down the sarcastic comment his brain had formulated, and nodded once. "Granger."

"Malfoy," she nodded back, putting her book down and sipping slowly from her mug. He noticed the small cat faces scattered across it and made a mental note about Granger being not only a swot, but a crazy cat lady as well. He took in her appearance: soft-looking hair, bright eyes, a well-worn jumper and socks with cat ears on the ankles.

Crazy cat lady, indeed.

He cleared his throat again, anxiety beginning to form in his mind. Should he say something? Or should he quietly slink to his room and contemplate how he was going to go about living in the same space as a third of the Golden Trio? Should he just turn and go? Or should he apologize again for the things he did in the past?

He could feel a migraine coming on.

"Would you like some coffee? I made a whole pot and I really don't think I can finish it. I'd hate to see it go to waste."

Ah. She had spoken.

His brain had reacted at the word coffee and brought up his worst memory of it—his aunt Bella sipping from a cup with liquid that seemed to be as dense as molasses and as dark as her soul. "No, thank you. I'm not a big coffee drinker."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, going back to her book. He shrugged as well, levitating his trunk to his room.

That was the first time.

The scent of coffee haunted him for the weeks to come. He smelled it in the Great Hall, which surprised him, because never in his years at Hogwarts had he seen anyone drink coffee. Now, he noticed the little pots sitting beside some students that poured the gross black stuff instead of tea, like a normal teapot should. He smelled it in the Quidditch field, where a first year had brought some to warm up while watching the Slytherin team do drills. He smelled it in the library, the slightly burnt aroma contrasting with that of must and old paper, as he did his Ancient Runes assignment, making him antsy and unnerved. He smelled it in Potions, as they were tasked to create any potion with the ingredients laid out on their table—but who would have coffee in their potion? He smelled it in their common room every day, Granger slowly taking a deep breath and inhaling the little swirls of steam from her cup.

She had taken to offering him a cup every time they crossed paths in the common room, and he had taken to saying "no, thank you" every single time.

"Coffee, Draco?" she had asked today as he dragged himself to his room after a grueling essay-writing session in the library. Instead of going straight inside and locking the door, as per usual, he plopped himself on the couch opposite from Granger and groaned.

"Why in Merlin's name do you ask me if I want coffee _every time_ you see me even if I say no?" She had looked at him for a good twenty seconds before she had broken into a laugh, leaning back into the couch.

"Who knows? You might surprise me one day," she said, smiling.

"You're mental, Granger. I think the books have gotten to you."

"Sod off, Malfoy. I offer all the time because that's how polite people conduct themselves, for your information."

And that was how they became friends. After every offer of a cup of coffee would come a snarky reply, followed by witty repartee and more often than not, a smile or a laugh.

"What do you call a magical door?" she had asked him one day as he came in late on a Friday night. She was positively shaking with mirth, her coffee cup on the edge of spilling. He had raised an eyebrow at her, dropping his satchel on the couch. "Granger, you're acting strange—" She had snorted and clutched her stomach, taking heavy breaths.

"Come on, Draco, _what do you call a magical door_?"

"Er... What?"

"A _Dumble-door! Ha!_ " she shouted, effectively knocking her coffee cup to the ground as she guffawed, slamming her fist against the table repeatedly. He cautiously leaned in, not knowing what to do. Granger did not only make a very bad joke, she had also spilled a full cup of her precious coffee. He started by siphoning up the spilled liquid with his wand, all the while watching Granger laugh her head off at a joke the likes of Crabbe might have made, Merlin rest his soul. He took a better look at her as she continued laughing. Her clothes were rumpled, the color on her cheeks high and her voice louder than he had ever heard it before. He saw the clumsiness in her movements, and deduced that he was in the presence of a very drunk Hermione Granger.

She had calmed down a bit, emitting only the slightest giggles while staring at him. He stared back, at a loss for words.

"Cat got your tongue? Get it? It's a very strange expression, though, I mean, how can a cat get your tongue? Why would they even be interested in your tongue? I doubt a cat would even stop being lazy for a second just to reach someone's tongue, honestly—" she yakked on and on, and his head was starting to hurt. How do you take care of a drunk person again?

He started by trying to steady her on the couch. "I'm appalled, Granger. That was the worst joke I've heard in my entire life. You're a disgrace to the comedic community."

"Shut up, Draco. You aren't even funny. You're just all _ooh, I'm Draco Malfoy and I'm richer than Croesus, my father will hear about this, Potter mudblood weasel blah_ ," she mimicked, matching her words with dainty hand gestures that he felt offended by. He didn't wave his hands around like that, did he?

"For your information, Granger, I am not richer than Croesus, my father will hear about nothing, Potter is none of my concern, I haven't said that word since the war and weasels are quite cute, as long as we aren't talking about your friend Weasel. He's bloody ugly."

"Ron isn't ugly, Draco. He's just tall. Harry's too sweet for my taste, and anyway, he's with Ginny, and he's like my brother anyway, Viktor can't even say my name right, and you're... pretty. So, so pretty," she whispered, her fingers reaching out to stroke his hair. "Why are you so pretty, Draco? If you were a girl every boy would be after you. Merlin, you don't even _need_ to be a girl for every boy to be after you."

He snorted again—he seemed to be forming the habit—and shifted his position on the couch. His heart rate had risen as she touched his hair, and her face was a few inches from his. He backed up, licking his lips and trying to think of seeing McGonagall naked to control himself from snogging her senseless. "Tell you what: I'll tell you why I'm so pretty, and you tell me why you're drunk off your arse at nine in the evening. Deal?"

She nodded, the motion making her clutch her head. "Ow," she whined. "Ow. Deal."

"I'm pretty because of my superior Malfoy genes. Why are you drunk?" She seemed to contemplate his answer before nodding blithely, seeming to accept it as fact. "I'm drunk off my arse at nine in the evening because I'm sad. I'm lonely and sad and depressed and sad. I'm the Brightest Witch of Her Age and I can't think of any other synonyms for sad. Merlin. So, so sad."

"And to deal with your sadness, you decided to drink yourself into incoherence?" he drawled.

Granger shook her head and clutched it, again. "Stop making me move my head, Draco. I'm sad because I'm so lonely. Everyone has someone, and I'm just Hermione. With a capital J. Just Hermione. It's Harry and Ginny, Ron and Lavender, Neville and Hannah, Dean and Seamus, but just me. Just Hermione. And that makes me so _sad_." Draco groaned internally. He had no idea how to deal with drunk people, especially a drunk Granger, who seemed to be her own species. He reached over and awkwardly patted her hand, already regretting his action once his hand made contact with her skin.

"Are you _patting_ me?" Granger said incredulously, her eyes widening. "I may be sad, but I never thought I'd be sad enough for you to _pat_ me." Draco sneered, immediately snatching his hand away from hers. "Merlin, Granger. Sorry for trying to show some support."

She guffawed again, her laugh bouncing off the stone walls of their quarters. "You're shite at comforting people," she giggled, placing her hand over his. "But I guess you didn't get much love when you were still itty bitty Dwaco."

"I got a lot of love, thank you very much. You didn't see how many toys I had under the Christmas tree."

"That's hardly love," she scoffed. "If you think that's love, then you're sadder than I am. And I'm drunk off my arse at nine in the evening." She leaned back into the couch, her head resting against the back. Draco followed suit, and they sat in silence.

Granger finally spoke a few minutes later, startling him.

"I've never been kissed, you know."

It was his turn to look at her incredulously, his eyebrows high. "Bollocks, Granger. I heard about that kiss you and the Weasel had when you got those basilisk fangs from the Chamber of Secrets. Then again, this is the Weasel we're talking about, so I'm not so sure if he even knows _how_ to kiss."

She laughed again, and it reminded Draco of how bells would tinkle in the garden of the Manor during the spring when he was younger. Before everything went to shit.

"Yes, we kissed, but it wasn't a kiss kiss, you know? It was a heat of the moment thing, I guess, since no one knew if we were going to survive or not. It didn't _feel_ right; it didn't feel like an electric shock or fire running through my veins, like how they describe it in those Wizarding erotica books I found in the library. It was just _there_. I always imagined kisses to feel like everything was falling in place, or something. Like everything would be okay." Draco nodded along, not knowing what to say. Were they even at that level, discussing kisses? Shouldn't it feel awkward, considering that only a year ago, she was lying on the floor of his drawing room, writhing in pain?

"What do you think a kiss should feel like?"

He let out a breath and looked at her. She blinked back expectantly, her eyes trained on his. He noticed the different flecks of brown in them—he would never think of her eyes as _just brown_ ever again. He said the first thing that came to mind.

"It should feel like coming home, I reckon. Calming, soothing. Among other things."

She kept her eyes locked with his before slowly leaning in until only a few centimeters remained between their faces. Her nose had a sprinkling of freckles, her eyes bright and her lips full and slightly parted. Their eyes met again and Draco was surprised at the intensity of her gaze, like she was memorizing him.

"Show me," she murmured, gaze dropping to his lips.

So he did.

He ever so slowly pressed his lips to hers, reveling in their softness. A feeling of contentment spread through his body, a strange warmth he had never felt with anyone. Not with Pansy, not with Astoria, not with any of his former conquests at Hogwarts. It reminded him of sunny days, of infinitely _better_ days, of coming home after a long trip. He thought he was just bullshitting her when he answered her, but fuck, it _did_ feel like home _._

He heard her let out a soft moan, and he kissed her harder, his hand slipping into her riotous curls. He fought the urge to moan as well. Everything about her was so _soft._

His tongue traced her lips, and she let out another gasp, her body arching towards him. She tasted like Firewhiskey and coffee, two things he never realized could come together perfectly. _More_ , he thought, as he slipped further inside her mouth, using the hand in her hair to gently pull her even closer. His brain was fogging up, _more_ and _yes_ being the only coherent thoughts he could form as they kissed, and Draco had never felt more at peace.

She eventually pulled away, resting her forehead against his own. Her breaths were shallow, her cheeks pink. She looked like the epitome of freshly kissed, and he made a mental note to keep her looking like that as often as he could. It was his favorite Granger look now.

She broke out into a grin, cradling his cheek in her hand, the other in his hair, pulling lightly. "Impressive, Malfoy. 9 out of 10."

"Please," he snorted. "Definitely a perfect 10, if I do say so myself." Laughing, she kissed him again, and he felt a fluttering in his stomach.

 _Merlin. Butterflies. Absolutely disgusting,_ he thought, but he decided that getting to kiss Granger was worth all the goddamn _fluttering,_ the books he tripped over almost every day, and the blasted cat that tried to rub itself on him every time he sat down on the couch.

Hermione kissed him one last time, a chaste peck, before getting up and grinning at him. "Coffee, Draco?"

He smirked, standing up and kissing her again. "Don't mind if I do," he said against her lips.

"Told you you'd surprise me one day," she said, her arms snaking around his neck.

"Go make the damn coffee, Granger."

He realized that coffee really wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
